If Only
by PhoenixDragonDreamer
Summary: He hesitated... "Wait." She turns, knowing smile drifting across her lips like boiling clouds scudding over the bloated yellow taint of the full moon above.


**_If Only... Part I _**

**_By PhoenixDragon aka PhoenixDragonDreamer_**

_**Warnings:**_** Angst, Darkness, Blood, Language - the usual, lol! Spoilers for 'Crossroad Blues'... **

_**A/N:**_** smilla02 inspired this! Her fic was so good, and this may pale in comparison, but it is due to her fic that the idea I had been kicking around finally came to fruition. **

**A/N 2: As you can probably already tell, this was written a loooong time ago – second season as a matter of fact – and as you can tell, it just goes from CRB and falls straight into an AU from there – hope it's no less enjoyable for all that though!**

_**Wordcount:**_** 3700 **

_**Disclaimer(s):**_** I don't own them. I wish I did, but Kripke and Co have that pleasure. I'm just playing with them - though I can't promise to hand them back the same way I found them (though they were broken before I even touched 'em!). **

_**FB is worshiped and sipped as a fine wine – asshattery is ignored and sneered at.**_

* * *

_He hesitated... _

_" Wait." _

_She turns, knowing smile drifting across her lips like boiling clouds scudding over the bloated yellow taint of the full moon above. _

_The full moon has power - and it doesn't care where the power goes, it just _is_. _

_He feels sick, yet exhilarated. _

_His palms begin to sweat and itch - he rubs them against his jeans, the skin there burning and scorched from the rough denim, tongue wisping out to swipe at his upper lip. _

_If she toyed with him - if she was lying - he would kill her, Trap or no Trap... _

_" You can... You can do that?" _

_" Are you ready to make a deal, Dean?" Surprised, questioning - but at the same time relentlessly _knowing_. It may have surprised her that Dean Winchester was actually considering - _

_But then again, how many Hunters had fallen into this trap? Their dreams dangled like charms on a bracelet - so small and insignificant - and yet so tangible and easily reached. How many? _

_From her smile, the stillness of her as she waited to hear his wish - he was sure he didn't want the answer. He had answer enough in the tilt of her head, the swirling red-black of her eyes. _

_Dammit. He should just kill this bitch and let it go. _

_But... _

_It was _DAD_. _

_He hesitated only once more, causing her step to falter, her spine to straighten. _

_Dean Winchester would surely never fall for such a thing. _

_But the hesitation was only momentary. _

_He opened his mouth and the words tumbled out, vile, nasty - but oh-so wild and sweet. _

_The deal was sealed, and the memory faded - the only thing that stood out vividly was the smoky darkness of her laughter; the acid crumble of dying leaves and ashes in his mouth as her lips melded with his; and the husky sound of her voice as she assured him that it was a good choice - the RIGHT choice - _

_" Because you have no idea what you have just saved him from, Dean. He will be so grateful to you." _

_But that was the reason why he could never tell him - he understood too well the pain one suffered when someone you loved gave their soul for you. _

_But as John often said - turn about was fair play. _

_And now it was _his_ turn... _

* * *

He couldn't answer him.

He _wouldn't_ answer him - though his throat ached with the words, heart pounding away mercilessly in his chest. He longed to tell him - if only for the sake of sheer honesty, for once.

If only for the fact that he could spill his guts, just this once - say all the things he wanted NEEDED to say - and be comforted, accepted and loved.

To be screamed at and railed against.

He longed to do it, but instinct and age-old habits held his mouth shut. Sealed his lips against the words that rose against his will to spill off of his tongue.

To tell would do no good - it would do no ill, as she had told him that this whole day would just be a blur for Sam - but it would do nothing but ease the guilt in his heart, and that he would never want.

To tell him would accomplish nothing.

So he turned the radio up and avoided Sam's eyes.

He saw the stricken look that crossed Sam's face, before it flickered out into a scowl - a look often associated with him - but for tonight, he could bear it.

Tomorrow morning, they would get up - and Dad would be alive, simple as that. A little worse for wear maybe, with a faulty memory and a nasty set of nightmares for a few months that he would never talk about.

But he would be..._Dad_.

The only one who would remember - would be him. _She_ considered it a blessing, with her mouth mocking and her smile a slash of Death - but he knew it for the curse it was, and almost fell to his knees in thankful joy for it.

He _wanted_ to remember. He wanted to know what he had done - so when the time came -

Sam would only vaguely remember the past few months, and when they both woke up in the morning, they would find Dad and they would continue to fight the good fight - until Dean's number came up.

And if they hadn't defeated the Demon by then, then, well -

They could carry on without him.

He had never forgotten what the Demon had said, and quite frankly, he almost agreed with it. They didn't need him - not like he needed _them_ - and to be honest, his love for his family could be detrimental to them.

After all - look what he had just done... Made a deal with the Devil - his soul for his family.

He had been so angry when it had been done for him, and he was sure John would feel the same way.

But it wasn't like they needed to KNOW, did they?

It was a small comfort that he wasn't the only Winchester to make such a deal - and he hoped that, that would sustain him over the very short ten years he would have with them... He knew it could all go wrong - Sam and Dad would have another fight, resulting in one of them storming off for good - again; the risk of Sam or Dad dying anyway; the risk of Sam becoming possessed - the risk of the both of them, Sam AND John becoming _obsessed_.

But it would be worth it - every second, every heartbeat of everyday.

So he swallowed the need to explain, the need to plead for Sam's forgiveness, to plead for his understanding - and turned the radio up - letting the miles spin away under his wheels as he looked toward the morning, even though he knew he would be too amped to sleep.

It turned out he was wrong about that...

* * *

But he wasn't wrong about much else.

She kept her word. She may have been a slimy bitch from Hell, who kissed more like her Hounds than a real girl - but she kept her word.

He found it funny and ironic that Demons were usually more honest than the people that existed around and within them.

That's how he knew that bullshit his Dad had spewed in the hospital was a lie - a way to make a good memory for his son before he bought his ticket to Hell. The Demon that had taken over his father's body had been a helluva alot more honest.

After all - if his Dad was gonna be honest, he should have told him what he was doing, and given him a rip for not waking up faster.

But, that was the past - Dean hoped that they could all make a new future.

He wasn't as dumb as Sam believed him to be... He knew his fairytale dream of them being a family again - being the daydream family he had always hoped for - was not in the cards. But they were all ALIVE -

And that was good enough for him.

He had woken up the next morning and taken a deep breath, blowing the last vestiges of sleep away from his limbs, and let a gnawing worry settle over him when he saw that John wasn't there.

An expletive started on his lips and died out as he glanced over at his sleeping brother - so the cuss-word that was intended to be shouted came out more as a whispered grumble, panic starting to set in at the deal he had made for nothing -

When the phone rang.

Hope in his heart and despair in his soul, he answered, voice still rough from sleep.

" Hello?"

" Dean?" Was the coarse half-shout.

In that moment he felt like laughing til his ribs split and crying in relieved shame.

" Where the fuck are you, dude? Been waiting here at this damned IHOP for what feels like hours."

Which translated as '_I just walked through the door and your damned ass wasn't holding down a booth._'

Managing to keep the thunderous joy and hysterical urge to weep out of his tone, he fumbled out an answer, glancing briefly at Sam as he did so.

" Sorry, Dad - just waking up. Rough night - we'll be there in a few, okay?"

" All right," Was the grudging reply.

" But next time we make plans Dean-o, make sure you keep 'em. Don't leave me hanging again, ya hear?"

" Yes, sir."

" Alright then." Half-capitulating acceptance. " Just shag your ass over here - and drag Sam outta bed, 'cause I know he's still sleeping. Don't forget to bring the journal with ya this time, either."

" We'll be there."

As he hung up, he glanced over at the clock-radio on the nightstand -

**10:42**

He had to really work to suppress the urge to giggle at the total irony of it all, and focused on waking his brother up. Later, he knew, he would have to have a screaming-laughing-nervous breakdown fit - but for now, he needed to get to his Dad. His eagerness to see him was only matched by Sam's overall stubbornness at getting up and facing the day.

Less than 20 minutes later, he saw his Dad again - and this time, he didn't have to convince himself that it was all worth it.

One look at his Dad's beloved face was all it took to tell him that it was - and his heart was contented...

* * *

It was difficult to not shout with joy and hug the man - it was even harder to concentrate while they casually ate breakfast and discussed the hunt from the night before, and the plans for the next couple that were coming up.

As they conversed, Dean felt the troubling sensation of dual-memory - in his mind, he _knew_ that his Dad had been dead for several months - but he also 'knew' that they had all three gone on this hunt - and found nothing but rumors, lies and speculation.

He had to give it to the slimy, she-bitch. She really knew how to cover both of their asses - and insure that the other two Winchesters would never bother her again.

* * *

_From there, the years sped on by, like waves of the ocean crashing against the shore. _

_The End was coming - and he welcomed his Fate with open arms..._

* * *

Even all these years later, with all the things that had happened in between, it was so very, very worth it. He would do it again, in a heartbeat - no hesitation, even though he could feel the consequences looming ever closer - that fateful Hell Hound disguised as a Black Dog was on his trail, It's footfalls heavy and ominous in his mind.

It was coming for him, and his time was running out.

He occasionally would stop and reflect on the past nine and a half or so years - the ups, the downs and all that went in between - and he found in the end, instead of being embittered by his fate, he was grateful.

Ten extra years - and what good years, in retrospect, they had been.

He would have to tell them goodbye - the only problem was - he didn't know how.

* * *

_It definitely didn't go the way he thought it would. _

_It took five whole years for Sam to go back to his 'normal life'. _

_And it took two more for his father to leave his side. _

_Three years to look back on what he had done - and know that it was all worth it. _

_Three years to try to figure out a way to tell them without telling them. _

_Three years for them to prove him right. _

_The Winchesters needed each other - but Sam and Dad needed one another more - and somehow, Time had seen them grow closer, like they should have done - Time had made them Father and son once more. And that, in itself, was worth a fast trip to the Hot Place. _

_It was amazing how much they had accomplished in that time, too. _

_The Demon had been vanquished - not dead, but sent back to Hell without a 'Get Out of Jail Free' card, and a singed ass to boot. When He crawled back up ( if he ever DID scale his slimy way out of the Pit, that is) the Winchesters would be long gone - His plans only so much smoke and might-have-beens. _

_It had been relatively easy too, a surprise for all of them - and they had partied and celebrated for the next two weeks - with numerous toasts and somber reflections on Mary - the woman it had all started for. _

_That had happened within the first two years. _

_A few years after that, Sam had settled in with Sarah - and they now had two children, a mortgage, a couple of college degrees apiece and half of her father's family business to tend to. _

_Yep - that man had leaped at the chance of using that extraordinarily geeky brain to his advantage - and they were all exceedingly well off because of it. _

_He and his father continued Hunting - though John Winchester spent considerably less time hunting than dropping by to see his grandchildren, and spend time with Sam. After two more years, he took up a permanent residence near Sam and Sarah, and opened an auto shop about a mile from his home. _

_John often (and bluntly) wished Dean would settle down - make a family of his own. But Dean would just shake his head and chase after the next evil beastie that reared it's ugly mug, because he couldn't tell them. _

_Even if he didn't have a hell-hound on his trail, he didn't know _how_ to settle down - _

_This... _THIS_ was all that he knew. _

_And he liked it that way. _

_Not only that, but he had all the family he needed. _

_Sam and John were alive, happy and well - and that was enough to set his troubled soul at ease. His needs and wants were never very complicated anyway - an occasional roll in the hay, a good drink, a good hustle and a good hunt - with his family safe and happy - were the only things he lived for - and now that Sam was _safe_ - _

_They no longer needed him. _

_He had done his job, and had done it well. It was time to rest, he was - _

Tired_... _

* * *

He was in a shitty no-name bar in the ass end of a small town in Missouri - name also unknown, just another flashed Welcome sign in the dark, flaring neon-green/blue in the wash of the Impala's headlights. The bar was a standard broken down hell-hole with faded red booths, polished wood bar (most likely filled with termites), and cold, yet bland, beer on tap.

He was having his sixth boiler-maker of the night - a well earned pat on the back for ridding this particular shitty-assed burg of it's resident poltergeist - when his cell rang, a loud clang of noise in the mostly silent bar. He grimaced an apology at the bartender, who shrugged in acknowledgement, before flipping it out and answering without looking.

" Winchester."

" Dean!" His father's voice was cheery and welcoming, and Dean could feel a black well of pain open in the pit of his stomach. He had been avoiding them for a couple of months now, dodging calls and invites - claiming one more hunt, one more evil to be eradicated - he just didn't know how to say it, to tell them. So it was best just to stay away until he could figure it out.

" Hey, Dad." He replied, signaling for another boiler-maker to aid him through this conversation - this was not going to be easy, he could tell.

" How many have you had so far?" Was the wry query.

Dean winced and slammed his shot before answering, wishing like crazy that it could just make him _drunk_ already.

" This is my second." He answered smoothly.

" Bullshit, it's more likely your seventh." John said bluntly.

Dean sighed and grabbed his beer, taking a cool gulp as he tried to guess what John was calling about. Another plea for him to buy a house, and settle down, and start working on the kids he was never gonna have with Ms. Susie Wholesome down the road?

Ha! As if.

" Dad - what-"

" Don't worry Dean-o, I ain't gonna break up your buzz, it's just been awhile since we have heard from you and we've been worried."

" Sorry, Dad - I've just been really busy and -"

" Bullshit." John said again mildly. " Been busy dodging our calls and drinking heavily, I'm sure."

Dean flushed, stung - one step away from losing his temper. He started to answer the accusation, but was interrupted again by a heavy sigh.

" I'm sorry, son," John said wearily, once again stunning Dean into immobility and silence. " It's just... Sam and I are worried about you. You haven't...been yourself for a few months. Shit, you haven't been yourself ever since I suggested you buy that house a couple of blocks over from me! You don't answer your phone - but, if we _do_ manage to get ahold of you..."

His voice trailed off and a sad silence coursed through the phone, slamming into Dean like a cold punch to the gut. His jaw and chest tightened in tandem, blood pulsing and thrumming through his ears - a dull roar against the silence sluicing through the other side of the line.

" I'm... I'm sorry, Dad," he said quietly, grateful when the bartender found some other place to be at that moment. He closed his eyes against the tears that threatened to spring out and overwhelm him - just another reason to avoid them. Tears were just too close too often nowadays.

" No... No, I'm sorry, son. I shouldn't have...attacked you, like I just did. Is it...is it something we did?"

" No, Dad!" Dean ground out, shocked. " No. It's... It's complicated."

" You know you can tell me, Dean-o." John said softly, almost breaking the dam that Dean had erected against the sudden, maddening urge to cry.

" I..." His throat locked and he had to swallow several times before he could get it clear again. He wasn't suspended on the verge of tears for himself - but for them. It occurred to him, like it should have done almost ten years ago - but he was too angry and hurt and grief-stricken to see it - what they would say, how they would _feel_ when he told them goodbye. " I know, Dad. I'll tell you. Soon. But not...not now, okay?"

" Dean. Just... Come home soon, son - alright?" Was all John said, before a whispered click told Dean that the line had been hung up.

The bartender stayed away while he struggled to compose himself, taking another huge gulp of his beer to push the lump back down in his throat. He signaled for his eighth boiler-maker, pulling out his wallet to pay his tab at the same time.

It was delivered promptly, and after payment was rendered, the bartender made himself scarce again, leaving Dean alone once more with his ever revolving and morbid thoughts.

It was all he had been thinking about - how to tell them, how to _explain_. And hearing his Dad's voice just brought home all over again how hard that was going to be - how he could never possibly make them understand how it was all for _them_ - how he needed his Dad back so bad he thought he was dying, he was just bleeding, shredding apart.

How disappointed John would be that he couldn't keep it together.

And then there was the knotty problem of the how and when this event would take place - never mind the why.

He had played momentarily with the idea of telling John right then and there, while he had him on the phone - but had immediately dismissed it. That was a cold, heartless way of doing it - no matter how much relief it would bring.

_To not have to see his face _-

He took another long pull from his mug and slammed back the whiskey with a grimace and slight shake of his head. It burned and scalded on it's way down, settling into a bloom of pleasant warmth in his middle, breaking up the tensed knot of ice that had formed there during John's call.

It was cruel to do it that way - to announce '_oh, yeah, by the way, Dad - I'm gonna die, and I did it all for you - have a nice day..._' was just unfeeling and a slap to the face of the man who had raised him. No. He would do the honorable thing, the _right_ thing - and tell them both to their faces. The consequences of that alone were numerous - but then, maybe after - he could escape again and get everything ready for when...for when _they_ came.

To take him to Hell...

_**TBC**_

* * *

_**Written December 3, 2006**_


End file.
